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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619832">love is a sacrament</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung'>starstrung</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Asexual Character, Discussions of Pandemic, Domesticity, M/M, Nightmares, Praise, Rimming, Set in Japan Gap, Sharing a Bed, discussions of trust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:09:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Zolf is used to loss by now. He knows himself better because of it. And he knows that he’s tired of feeling <i>pointless</i> all the time, like he’s got so much of himself to devote and no one who’s stuck around long enough to devote himself <i>to</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>164</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>love is a sacrament</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Endless gratitude to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/newsbypostcard/pseuds/newsbypostcard">newsbypostcard</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkcycle">hawkcycle</a> for their support/enabling. Unfortunately, I went extremely feral about Oscar Wilde and Zolf very quickly.</p><p>Check out <a href="https://imgur.com/UUAkKpX">this amazing fanart</a> for this fic by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouokaypanda/pseuds/areyouokaypanda">areyouokaypanda</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It takes Zolf a while to recognize that he’s happy.</p><p>Not an indecent amount of happy, of course. The world’s still ending. His friends are still missing. Grief still follows him like a familiar shade. He still wakes up in the mornings sometimes with tears soaking into his beard, unsure of who exactly he’s mourning.</p><p>But he’s standing in the kitchen cutting vegetables, and he looks over at Wilde who has come down to dinner for the first time all week after Zolf needled him about all the work he was putting in cooking the damn thing, it would be fuckin’ rude of him not to, and he feels — happy. It blooms in his chest so cautiously that it takes Zolf a moment to put words to it. </p><p>Wilde has occupied himself before dinner by examining the plants that the inn keeps lining the outdoor walkway behind the kitchen, sheltered from the rain by the building’s overhang. It must be hellishly tricky to grow anything here in this constant rain, but there’s a good sizable collection of herbs there. Zolf sees Wilde kneel to examine a newly sprouted fellow, his lips twitching in that stunted, lopsided way of his with the scar disfiguring one side of his face. </p><p>Wilde looks good. He’s taken to the local fashion, wearing robes that cinch around his narrow waist, making him look more delicate and graceful than he does in all his ostentatious coats. He’s filling out, too, no longer rail-thin, and the bruises under his eyes have lessened. Zolf had been worried on the sea voyage to Japan that a stiff  wind would knock Wilde right into the sea, and he'd have to dive in after him. But there's color in Wilde's face now, and his hair has grown out long enough to fall into his eyes. Zolf appraises him, likes what he sees, and wonders if this is linked to the happiness he’s feeling.</p><p>And then Wilde looks up and catches Zolf’s eye through the kitchen doorway and Zolf, like some creaking, rusted thing, lets himself open up and show it. He smiles at Wilde with all that happiness, all that strange lightness. He lets Wilde see, for a moment, what he is feeling.</p><p>And then he turns hastily back to chopping vegetables before he can see Wilde’s reaction, because fuck if <em> that </em> wasn’t embarrassing.</p><p>The dinner is delicious, simple. Wilde barely touches any of it.</p><p>“Come on,” Zolf says, prodding. “I did nearly lose a hand making that.”</p><p>Wilde wipes his mouth with his napkin and sets his food aside. His mannerisms are suddenly so precise and formal, like he’s sitting at a damn state dinner, and Zolf realizes with a sinking feeling that Wilde is hiding something from him.</p><p>“No appetite tonight, I’m afraid,” Wilde says, voice clipped.</p><p>“All right,” Zolf says, watching him. Is it possible that Wilde looks slightly paler? “Tea, then?”</p><p>“Yes, that would be lovely,” Wilde says, but once Zolf hands him his cup of tea, Wilde doesn’t do anything more than curl his long fingers around it, letting steam curl from it untouched.</p><p>“Should we, er, discuss the next mission?” Zolf says. Wilde did mention something earlier about a lead he had gathered on a new kind of weather anomaly in the mountains not far from them.</p><p>“Perhaps later,” Wilde said. A few months ago, Zolf would have said that Wilde was being aloof just to be unhelpful. Now, he recognizes when Wilde is protecting himself.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Zolf asks.</p><p>Wilde gives him a smile, half-twisted by the scar. It is as insincere a smile as Zolf has ever seen from him, and Zolf hates to see it. “Nothing at all. I’m just tired, that’s all. I think I’ll retire early. Thank you for dinner.” Wilde rises from the low table, and goes back upstairs. </p><p>Zolf sits there for a while longer, finishing his tea, feeling troubled. He doesn’t know when he became so familiar with Wilde’s moods, but now that he has, all the discrepancies itch at him like hooks beneath his skin. There is something bothering Wilde, that’s for certain. And the bastard is elusive enough that Zolf will have a hard time finding out what it is if Wilde doesn’t want him to. </p><p>He lets out a heavy sigh and begins to clear away the dishes. It’s no use worrying about it now. Smarter men than he have tried and failed to riddle out the mercurial ways of Oscar Wilde.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zolf wakes up in the middle of the night to Wilde standing over him, a knife in his hand, neatly solving that mystery for him.</p><p>“The fuck,” Zolf says, sitting bolt upright in bed. “Wilde, what the <em> fuck</em>.”</p><p>“I need to see,” Wilde says. His eyes are frenzied, panicked. His voice is shaking. “The veins, the marks. I need to see if you have them. I need to make sure you’re not infected.”</p><p>Zolf tries to make sense of this. “Wilde, I’m not infected. I’ve been here. With you.”</p><p>Wilde isn’t raising his knife, but Zolf can see that he’s holding it so tightly his knuckles have gone white. “I need to make sure.”</p><p>“All right, all right,” Zolf says, trying to keep his voice calm, reasonable, like Wilde is a spooked animal. He reaches over slowly and lights the rune lamp by his bed, trying not to make sudden movements. He can hear the sound of Wilde breathing, too fast. </p><p>Zolf doesn’t sleep with his shirt on, so that part’s easy. He throws off the bedsheets and takes off his pants too.</p><p>“Look, then,” he tells Wilde. “There’s nothing there. I promise.”</p><p>Wilde examines him. Something has seriously shaken him, that much is clear. His face is pale and bloodless, and it doesn’t look like he’s slept at all.</p><p>At last, Wilde is satisfied. He sits down in Zolf’s chair and puts the knife down on Zolf’s desk. “All right,” he says. “I — I’m sorry. For that. I had to be sure.”</p><p>“‘S all right,” Zolf says, easily. He puts his pants back on. “You want to talk about it?”</p><p>Wilde looks at him incredulously. “I almost stabbed you and you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Zolf shrugs. “Not like you didn’t have your reasons.”</p><p>Wilde snorts. “Yes, gods forbid I stab you without adequate reason.”</p><p>Zolf tries to take it as a good sign that Wilde is fighting back. He waits.</p><p>Wilde lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ve been — having dreams, lately.”</p><p>Zolf raises his eyebrows. “I thought that the shackles…?”</p><p>Wilde shakes his head. “No, not those dreams. These are of my own making, I’m afraid. The best poison is the one you make for yourself, I suppose.” He laughs bitterly.</p><p>“And in these dreams?” Zolf prompts. They’re going to be here the whole night if he waits for Wilde to get to the point.</p><p>“I dream that you’re sick,” Wilde says, and his eyes meet Zolf’s. “Sometimes it’s Barnes or Carter or someone at the inn. But mostly it’s been you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Zolf says. He doesn’t know what else to say. Wilde pushes on anyway, as if Zolf has not spoken.</p><p>“And then last night, you were acting so strange. It was my own paranoia. I thought you’d been exposed somehow.”</p><p>“I was acting strange?” Zolf says, confused.</p><p>Here, Wilde looks embarrassed. He lifts his hand to his face as if to tuck his hair behind his ear, like he’s forgotten that it hasn’t grown long enough yet. His hand falls back to his lap. “You were, I don’t know, watching me. You <em> smiled </em> at me. It was out of the ordinary. I'm supposed to notice these things, remember.”</p><p>“Wilde.” Zolf pinches his nose. “I was <em> smiling </em>at you because, I don’t know, I wanted to. You looked happy. I was happy. That’s all.”</p><p>Wilde looks skeptical. “We can’t stand each other’s company, remember?”</p><p>Zolf wants to take this fool man by the shoulders and shake him until some sense rattles into that fool head, he really does. “That hasn’t been true for a while,” he says, flatly.</p><p>Wilde looks at him. He still seems suspicious, but there’s a little smugness creeping in as well. “Truly?”</p><p>“Don’t let it go to your head,” Zolf says, gruffly, but Wilde looks far too pleased anyway.</p><p>Time to change the subject. “So these dreams, then,” Zolf says, and regrets it a little when the smile slides off Wilde’s face.</p><p>“Yes, well, I’ll just have to get better at ignoring them. Nothing I can’t handle,” Wilde says, dismissively.</p><p>“Last time you ‘handled’ it, you showed up in my room with a knife, remember?” Zolf says.</p><p>“Well, now that I’ve seen that you’re clearly not infected, we can both get back to sleep,” Wilde says, and gets to his feet. Zolf notices that Wilde keeps the knife lying on Zolf’s desk, like he doesn’t trust himself to take it with him.</p><p>“You could sleep here,” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde freezes. “Pardon?”</p><p>Oh, blast it. Zolf scrubs a hand over his face. He’s too fucking tired for this. “I just meant — if you keep waking up worried that I’m infected, then might as well just save you the trouble of coming over here to check me. You can sleep here.”</p><p>Wilde doesn’t say anything. Normally, Zolf would be proper pleased with himself for driving Wilde to speechlessness, but in this situation, it’s less than helpful.</p><p>“Forget it,” he mutters. “It was a suggestion, that’s all. Take it or leave it. Good night, Wilde.” And with that, Zolf turns off the light, lies back down, and closes his eyes. He wills himself to fall back asleep as quickly as possible so that he won’t have to deal with <em> this </em>anymore.</p><p>Zolf expects to hear Wilde leave, but instead he feels the mattress dip and the bedsheets shift as Wilde gets into bed next to him. The bed is large enough that they don’t touch, but Zolf can feel Wilde’s warmth at his back, can hear the sound of his breathing. It’s gotten slower, more even, more calm. Good. </p><p>Zolf sleeps.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He wakes up with his nose in Wilde’s hair. It’s the sensation of it tickling at his face that gets him up. Zolf spends a confused, bleary moment recalibrating. Oh, right. Wilde in his bed. He’d invited him there, and Wilde had taken him up on the offer. It doesn’t quite explain why Zolf is holding Wilde in his arms. He can smell the soap Wilde uses for his hair, the aftershave he uses. Fuck.</p><p>Wilde makes a small distressed noise when Zolf pulls away. Zolf has never heard Wilde make a noise like that — sleepy and soft and utterly without ulterior motive. Zolf feels the ground tilt dangerously beneath him at how unguarded Wilde looks. This is Wilde unmasked, Wilde without guile or artifice. He looks so fucking <em> young</em>.</p><p>Zolf gets out of bed and gets dressed. Then he paces the room a few times, before finally standing over Wilde and poking his cheek. Wilde wrinkles his face.</p><p>“Wake up,” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde blinks awake. Zolf sees him struggle for a bit to remember where he is, and then he sits up, rubbing his eyes. His robe has come slightly loose in the night and has fallen off one shoulder, baring nearly half his chest. Zolf can see brown hair dusting his chest before trailing further down, can see the pink of a nipple. His mouth goes suddenly dry.</p><p>“Sleep well, did you?” Zolf says, tightly.</p><p>“Yes, actually,” Wilde says, sounding surprised. “The whole night. How novel.”</p><p>“Glad to hear it,” Zolf grunts.</p><p>Wilde stretches his arms above his head. The robe slips further. Zolf’s throat feels like it’s populated with spiders.</p><p>“So tell me, Mr. Smith,” Wilde says languorously. “Did our night together live up to your expectations?” </p><p>Zolf snorts, and looks away from the pale outline of Wilde’s torso. “You passin’ out in my bed after threatening me with a knife? Yeah, unforgettable.”</p><p>Wilde laughs. There was a time when Zolf would have been angry to hear Wilde laugh like that, would think that he was being made fun of and react accordingly. But Zolf is learning that sometimes Wilde laughs just to tell the world that he won’t be beaten down. </p><p>“Well, let’s do this again sometime,” Wilde says, and with a final leer he slips out of Zolf’s bed.</p><p>“Okay, but really though,” Zolf says. Wilde stops in the doorway to look back at him. “If you need it, I’m here.”</p><p>Wilde is quiet for a long moment. Then, in a voice that sounds far too gentle, “Thank you, Zolf.” He steps out and closes the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Zolf comes down for breakfast, Wilde is dressed, this time in one of his waistcoats and shirts, and is eating the food that Zolf made yesterday. Zolf worries that it will be awkward between them, but Wilde gives him his usual distracted nod of greeting, like he’s forgotten all about it.</p><p>“So you’re finally eating,” Zolf says, sitting across from him with his own food.</p><p>“Yes, I did have other things on my mind last night,” Wilde says.</p><p>“Like stabbing me.”</p><p>“Like stabbing you.”</p><p>Zolf smiles a little, and this time Wilde catches it and smiles back, something uncharacteristically shy about it. “So how’s it?” Zolf asks him, gesturing at Wilde’s half-finished plate.</p><p>“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Wilde says effusively. “You’ve discovered a hidden talent, Zolf, well done.”</p><p>Zolf makes a face. “All right, fine, you don’t have to lay it on like that.”</p><p>Wilde pauses, and then speaks a little quieter. “I meant it, Zolf. It’s delicious.”</p><p>Zolf huffs and keeps eating. He doesn’t know what to do with this sincere Wilde. It’s like something <em> has </em> changed between them after all, and they’re more willing to show each other honesty. Zolf doesn’t know if he likes that.</p><p>Thankfully, they retreat to separate corners of the inn after breakfast. The weather is just as bad as it always is, and rain lashes on the windows, humidity creeping in through the walls. By now, Zolf has gotten used to the pervasive sticky air, the unending gloom. </p><p>He spends his day like he usually does when there’s downtime. He reads through a Harrison Campbell book, which he knows pretty much by heart. He goes down to the cellar, where at least it’s marginally cooler, and he trains with his glaive until there’s sweat pouring off of him. He soaks off his sore muscles in the bath, feeling guiltily extravagant about it. And then he goes to find Wilde.</p><p>“Heard from Barnes and Carter?” Zolf asks, stepping into Wilde’s office.</p><p>“Yes, just now, actually,” Wilde says. He’s hunched over his desk, poring over notes and maps, his fingers stained with ink. Zolf frowns, and resists telling Wilde to straighten up and save his back some trouble. </p><p>“Did they learn anything about the weather anomaly?” Zolf asks.</p><p>“Yes.” Wilde steeples his fingers. “They’ve heard reports of possible agents of Shoin spotted setting up some kind of outpost on a nearby mountain. The weather there has been particularly nasty — localized tornadoes, lightning strikes, you name it. It’s dangerous terrain.”</p><p>“I can handle it. When can I leave?” Zolf says.</p><p>Wilde fixes him with a look. “Someone’s eager.”</p><p>“About time I get to have some fun,” Zolf says. </p><p>“It should take three days for Barnes and Carter to finish their reconnaissance. I want to give them time to make it out safely and at least start heading back to headquarters before I send you out as well.”</p><p>“Makes sense,” Zolf says. Leaving the headquarters undefended is a bad idea. Wilde can’t do magic, and wouldn’t be able to hold off an incursion. “Three days then.”</p><p>He sees an odd expression cross Wilde’s face briefly before being hidden away.</p><p>“What, you gonna miss me while I’m gone?” Zolf jokes, unable to resist.</p><p>Wilde scoffs. “Not at all. I adore it when you’re gone. I have the bath to myself, for a start. I don’t have to put up with your abominable taste in hats. And don’t get me started on your beard oil.”</p><p>“What the hell is wrong with my beard oil?” Zolf says. It’s a perfectly serviceable beard oil. Zolf is secretly very vain about his beard.</p><p>“You use too much. It leaves a residue,” Wilde says.</p><p>“A residue,” Zolf says. </p><p>“Yes,” Wilde says. He waves a hand at Zolf. “Now go away, I have a stack of paperwork that needs my attention.”</p><p>Zolf backs out of Wilde’s office. He feels vaguely like he’s missed something important in that conversation and he’s not sure what. He decides to chalk it up to Wilde being cryptic, as usual, and decides not to worry about it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zolf spends the next three days gathering supplies for his trip. After some deliberation, he also begins cooking some meals for Wilde to eat while he’s gone because he doesn’t trust Wilde to manage to feed himself in his absence.</p><p>(“I’m not a child,” Wilde says, when Zolf shows him what he’s done. “You do <em> know </em>that, right?”)</p><p>To his surprise, Wilde takes him up on his offer to share his bed. On the second night, Wilde comes in after Zolf has already turned off the lights, and has begun to drift asleep. Zolf hears his door open, and then sees Wilde standing at the foot of his bed, like he’s waiting for permission.</p><p>Zolf moves over to the side of the bed. “Don’t hog the blankets,” he says, gruffly.</p><p>“Much obliged,” Wilde says, and that’s that.</p><p>The next morning, Zolf wakes up with an armful of Wilde again. A rather... <em> aroused </em>Wilde, if the erection poking into Zolf’s thigh is any indication. As Zolf finishes waking up, Wilde’s hips tilt forward restlessly, rubbing up against Zolf’s leg, and he makes a small pleased moan in his sleep that makes alarm bells ring loudly in Zolf’s head.</p><p>Zolf pulls away sharply, extricating himself so quickly that Wilde wakes up with a jolt. “Whatsit,” Wilde says, sleepily.</p><p>“Sorry,” Zolf says. “Have to go, er, train.”</p><p>Wilde blinks at him slowly, his mouth slightly open, his hair twisted unattractively across his face. Zolf hates that he finds it kind of endearing. It’s clear that Wilde isn’t fully awake after all. “Right,” Wilde says, with a jaw-cracking yawn, and then he goes back to sleep.</p><p>“Right,” Zolf says to himself, and removes himself to the cellar where he trains with his glaive until he forgets the sound of Wilde moaning into his ear.</p><p>On the third night, Wilde has a nightmare.</p><p>Zolf comes awake because Wilde kicks him. He turns around, ready to yell at Wilde, only to see that Wilde is thrashing in the bed like he’s fighting something off. His face is all screwed up, and he makes distressed murmurs.</p><p>“Wilde,” Zolf says, urgently. He puts a hand on Wilde’s shoulder. “<em>Oscar</em>.”</p><p>Wilde’s eyes snap open. His eyes are unfocused, unseeing. Right. Humans can’t see in the dark. Perhaps that’s why Wilde isn’t bothering to hide the scared, panicked expression on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes.</p><p>“Zolf,” Wilde says, voice rough. “Oh, gods. Sorry.” He scrubs a hand over his face.</p><p>“'S all right,” Zolf says, settling back. “Do you want to tell me about it?” </p><p>“No one enjoys hearing about other people’s dreams,” Wilde says tiredly.</p><p>“Didn’t ask because I thought I would enjoy it. Asked because I wanted to help.” </p><p>Wilde doesn’t say anything. He turns over onto his side and faces away from Zolf. </p><p>Zolf tries and fails not to be hurt by that. “All right, fine.” He turns over also. </p><p>If Wilde says anything after that, Zolf isn’t awake to hear it.</p><p>When Zolf opens his eyes, he finds that it’s late, and Wilde left without waking him up. Zolf spends the morning in a bit of a foul mood. He goes to the market to purchase groceries, specifically buying vegetables he knows that Wilde hates, the fish that Wilde complained was too bony for him, a particularly ugly hat that he knows Wilde will find distasteful, and three whole bottles of beard oil. </p><p>When Zolf gets back, he still feels frustrated and listless, so Zolf pulls out every pot and pan in the kitchen and sets about making an absolutely excessive amount of food.</p><p>He’s about an hour and a half into this endeavor when Wilde turns up, summoned by the smells that have begun to fill the space. Zolf’s mind has gone wonderfully blank, devoted to the mindless labor of preparing the food, but when Wilde appears, he’s immediately on edge again.</p><p>Wilde doesn’t seem to be here for any useful task either. He leans against the counter, his eyes tracking Zolf as he moves around the kitchen.</p><p>“D’you need something?” Zolf says, sarcastically. “Or did you just come by to distract me.”</p><p>“You seemed to be in dire straits, so I thought I’d offer you my services as a taste tester,” Wilde says cheerfully. Zolf remembers his face from last night, looking so dangerously open, full of unconcealed fear. There’s no trace of that on Wilde’s face or in his voice now. It’s like it was never there at all. Zolf feels his foul mood returning.</p><p>“Generous of you,” Zolf says. “Fine. This one’s nearly done anyway.” He offers his spoon. Wilde steps closer to him and bends down — even with Zolf standing on a tall stool to reach the stove, Wilde still looms over him — to take the spoon into his mouth.</p><p>Wilde hums a little, straightening up and licking his lips, like he’s savoring it. </p><p>“Good?” Zolf says, uncertain why his breath has suddenly caught in his chest.</p><p>“Very good,” Wilde says, appreciatively.</p><p>“Great. Are you going to let me cook in peace, then?” Zolf says.</p><p>“My, my. I had no idea you were so territorial in the kitchen,” Wilde says, sultry. He boops Zolf’s nose.</p><p>Zolf points at the door with his spoon, and hopes his beard hides the way his lips are turning into a smile. “Out.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Wilde says. The git waits until he’s halfway through the doorway before he leans back in and says, “Needs a bit of salt, by the way.”</p><p>Zolf swears under his breath, but Wilde is already gone. He tastes it again, and is very irritated to find that Wilde is right. He considers leaving it like that just to spite Wilde, realizes that would be childish, and throws in a grudging pinch of salt.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When it’s finally time for Zolf to leave for his mission, Wilde sees him off with a closed-off expression that Zolf is familiar with. He sees it every time he goes on a mission. Like Wilde has already prepared for the eventuality of Zolf’s death. Zolf hates it.</p><p>“Hey, Wilde,” he says. “You better eat those meals I made you. When I come back, they better all be gone. Or else.” Zolf does his best to look threatening.</p><p>Wilde quirks an uneven smile. “Yes, yes,” he says, clearly just to placate him. Zolf’s pretty sure that all that work he just put in cooking those meals has been for nothing. Wilde is probably going to live off tea and scraps like he always does when Zolf isn’t there to sit him down and feed him. Still, at least that dead, hollow look in Wilde’s eyes is gone, even if it's temporary. Zolf turns around and leaves before he can see it come back.</p><p>He takes a horse from the stable. It’s a long, miserable ride with the rain pounding on his back the whole time. Closer to the mountain, the weather is even worse. Zolf very quickly forgets what it feels like to be dry.</p><p>The Shoin outpost isn’t really as much an outpost as it is a couple of lowlife mooks hanging about and making life difficult for the local village. Zolf dispatches them without a problem. The real issue turns out to be the landslide.</p><p>All the rain has loosened the entire eastern side of the mountain to dangerous levels. When Zolf gets there, it’s a struggle to maintain his footing. The earth just keeps <em> slipping</em>. One tree uproots itself completely and begins to slide downhill, then another, and another, until it’s a torrent of earth and mud and rock. A deafening roar begins to build exponentially all around him. Well, fuck.</p><p>Zolf doesn’t know how he gets to the village in time to warn everyone of the oncoming catastrophe, but he does. They manage to evacuate everyone out, right before the mountain falls on top of the village.</p><p>The following days are pretty miserable. Zolf stays behind to help with the refugees, get them sorted, heal anyone who needs it, all that. Wilde will probably give him a hard time about not coming straight back to headquarters after completing the mission, but he doesn’t care.</p><p>By the time he’s finally on his way back, Zolf is more exhausted than he’s been in a long time. There is mud caked permanently beneath his fingernails, into his clothes, in his beard. He just wants a hot meal and a long bath and then he wants to see Wilde and—</p><p>Zolf lets out a frustrated sigh, and shakes his head.</p><p>When he does make it back, Wilde stands in the doorway to watch his approach, maintaining a careful distance. There is no expression at all in his face.</p><p>For a moment, the instinct to run and hug him is so strong, Zolf rocks forward on his feet before remembering what a colossally bad idea that would be.</p><p>Oh, he thinks. Right, then. So he’s in love with Wilde. That's fine.</p><p>As realizations go, he probably should have seen this one coming. Zolf’s always loved a challenge, and Oscar Wilde’s as challenging as they get.</p><p>“Welcome back,” Wilde says, stiffly. Zolf looks him over. </p><p>“You didn’t eat them, did you?” Zolf says. All his work feeding Wilde back up, undone. He’ll have to get started on that all over again now.</p><p>Wilde’s expression doesn’t change at all. After a while, he goes back into the inn. Zolf sighs. He goes inside, takes a bath, scarfs down some food, and makes his way to the cellar for some self-imposed quarantine.</p><p>The anti-magic field is hell on his prosthetics, like it always is, but they’ve made it quite comfortable down there, or as comfortable as they can manage. Zolf has stocked it up with Harrison Campbell novels, and he prepares himself for what should be a long week of boredom and naps.</p><p>Instead, Zolf spends all of quarantine wanting to touch Wilde, and not being able to.</p><p>Figures that he’d wait to develop feelings for the man when he can’t even be in the same room as him. Seeing Wilde come in to do his checks is a strange sort of agony. Zolf strips his clothes and stands there while Wilde looks him over — nothing Zolf isn't used to at this point, but suddenly there are goosebumps rising on his skin feeling Wilde’s eyes on him. He hopes desperately that Wilde doesn’t notice.</p><p>Wilde never really sticks around to chat after finishing his checks. Zolf is used to this behavior. So it’s a surprise when after the first check, Wilde lingers.</p><p>“You were gone for longer than I thought you’d be gone,” Wilde says. “Why?”</p><p>Zolf raises his eyebrows. They usually wait to debrief after the quarantine period is done, just to be safe. “You want the whole story now?”</p><p>Wilde looks away. “No. No, I just—”</p><p>Wilde looks so vulnerable suddenly, that Zolf steps forward to the bars and decides to be honest. “I missed you too,” he says.</p><p>It’s a mistake. Zolf sees Wilde recoil, sees the walls slam down again. Zolf, who is familiar with grief and heartbreak, feels some ancient scar in himself split open anew. </p><p>“We’ll talk when you’re out,” Wilde says, and he leaves. </p><p>Zolf absolutely does <em> not </em>kick over a chair about it. If he does, well, that’s between him and the chair.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After Zolf’s seven days are up, he takes a long soak in the baths. Wilde is pretty scarce, staying holed up in his office. It’s not unusual — Wilde’s always been an idiot about keeping his distance when he doesn’t need to. </p><p>When Zolf’s ready, he goes to see Wilde in his office. Wilde looks up from his notes and gives him a smile. It even looks like a genuine smile. Zolf doesn’t know how Wilde can do that — can turn himself on and off. Meanwhile, every emotion Zolf has ever had, he’s felt like he’s worn emblazoned on his chest.</p><p>“So would you like to explain how a day’s mission stretched into eight?” Wilde says.</p><p>Zolf rubs the back of my head. “Yeah. Guess I should explain that, shouldn’t I? You’re, er, looking well, by the way.”</p><p>Wilde does look well. Suspiciously well, in fact. Zolf peers closer and realizes that he’s been using make-up to disguise the bags under his eyes again. His nightmares must have been bad while Zolf was gone.</p><p>Wilde’s lips twitch. “Stop stalling.”</p><p>So Zolf resigns himself to his fate, and tells Wilde about the landslide and the village. As he suspected, Wilde does not look happy about it.</p><p>“Zolf,” Wilde says, pinching his nose. “You can’t keep <em> doing </em>this.”</p><p>“They needed my help,” Zolf says, stubbornly. </p><p>“They always need your help. But that’s not the mission.”</p><p>“I couldn’t just <em> leave</em>.”</p><p>“Yes,” Wilde says, his eyes flashing. “You could. That’s what you should’ve done. Instead you ran yourself ragged, risked further exposure, risked the <em> mission</em>. Eight days, Zolf. You can’t just disappear on me like that for <em> eight days</em>.”</p><p>“This is about you wanting to control things,” Zolf says, his temper rising. “This isn’t about me taking a risk, not really. It’s just that I took a risk that <em> you </em> didn’t want me to take.”</p><p>Wilde looks exasperated. “I’m your handler, Zolf. That’s the arrangement we have. That’s my <em> job</em>. To assess risks.” He tilts his head. “And I’m rather good at it, actually. So don’t do it again.”</p><p>Zolf seethes quietly.</p><p>“Anything else?” Wilde says, apparently back to being brisk.</p><p>“Yeah. Why are you like this?” Zolf says, angrily.</p><p>Wilde’s smile is too sharp, and it’s got too many teeth. “Devilishly handsome? Well, it’s a lot of work, let me tell you.”</p><p>“I meant, why are you so <em> infuriating</em>.”</p><p>Wilde’s smile becomes a little more fixed. “That I do just to get on your nerves.” He reaches over to Zolf.</p><p>Zolf grabs his wrist hard enough to bruise. “Boop my nose and I’ll break your finger,” Zolf growls.</p><p>“I see we’re in a mood today,” Wilde says, dropping his hand.</p><p>“Guess I don’t like to be scolded for being a decent fucking person,” Zolf says. “Do you even <em> care </em> about the people being hurt by all this?”</p><p>Zolf is so used to working away at Wilde’s defenses that he forgets what it looks like when he actually lands a blow. For a moment, there is something hurt and terribly lost in Wilde’s face, before his expression tightens again. </p><p>“Do you know how many villages there are out there that are going through the exact same thing?” Wilde says. “A countless number. The best way to help them is to pick our battles. We can’t just go into every fray. I can’t just <em> send </em>you into every fray. One of these days you might not come back to me.” </p><p>“To you,” Zolf repeats.</p><p>Wilde colors. “You know what I meant.” </p><p>Zolf steps forward, his fists clenched. “No, I don’t. Because it sounds like you’re holding me back for no reason when I could be <em> helping </em>people. It’s why I’m here, Wilde. You’d better understand that, or I’m done.”</p><p>Suddenly, looking at Wilde is like looking at a wall. Zolf can read nothing in that expression, absolutely bloody nothing. “I know you don’t trust me,” Wilde says, slowly, evenly, “but I need you to do this. This is the job, Zolf. Sometimes it involves waiting until you’re needed. If you’ve got a problem with that, then feel free to contact Curie and be reassigned somewhere else. If not, then you’re staying put.”</p><p>Zolf almost snarls. This condescending little shit calling his bluff like that makes Zolf so angry that he storms out of the room before he can do something really stupid, like punch Wilde in the face.</p><p>Out in the hallway, he <em> does </em>punch a wall, not caring if Wilde hears it. </p><p>His failure to read Wilde is what stings the most, but then again Zolf doesn’t know what he expected. Wilde is an illusionist down to his bones. He may not be able to do any magic right now, but he’s still a master of misdirection. Navigating Wilde is like navigating a fucking maze. </p><p>Sod Wilde. Sod him and his inexplicable <em>moods </em>and his stupid beautiful face that keeps shuttering up and leaving Zolf out. Zolf marches to the front of the inn, intent on going to the bar and getting a drink and spending the rest of his evening in a thoroughly black mood. </p><p> To his surprise, Barnes is at the bar, hunched over a glass of whiskey. He raises his glass to Zolf in silent greeting as Zolf slides next to him.</p><p>“I’ll have one of those too,” Zolf says to the innkeeper, who pours him a glass.</p><p>“So you talked to Wilde,” Barnes says.</p><p>Zolf makes a face, and takes a long sip of his whiskey. </p><p>“That bad?” Barnes says, flatly.</p><p>Zolf growls. “Sometimes, I just want to…” He sighs, bowing his head forward. “One moment he’s being so fucking nice, and then the next, it’s like he’s a different person. He just… shuts off. I don’t get why he always has to be so evasive. How does he even have the <em> energy</em>.”</p><p>“He’s scared,” Barnes says.</p><p>Zolf raises his eyebrows. “Scared of what?”</p><p>Barnes shrugs. “What do you think,” he says, which is so thoroughly unhelpful that Zolf shoots him a venomous glare. Barnes is nonplussed by this, just drains his drink and stands up.</p><p>“Take it easy,” Barnes says. To Zolf’s surprise, Barnes gives Zolf’s shoulder a friendly pat — he must be pretty drunk — before wandering off.</p><p>Zolf stays there for a while longer, staring into his drink. He feels calmer now, although there's still a bit of leftover fury simmering under his skin. Calm enough to give himself a stern talking-to, one that's probably severely overdue.</p><p>He’s in love with Wilde. That irritating, aggravating riddle of a man. So thoroughly wrapped up in himself that he doesn’t even <em> see </em>it when he needs help. Zolf is pretty sure that Wilde is responsible for at least eighty percent of his rapidly whitening hair. Zolf never wants to leave his side.</p><p>Of course, this would all be easier if Wilde was easier for Zolf to read. Sometimes, Wilde seems so fragile, so breakable. Other times he feels hard as stone. And then there are flashes of that old Wilde, young and fearless and dazzling. Wilde may have shed that old version of himself, left it by the wayside along with all the other detritus of this broken world, but Zolf still sees glimpses of it sometimes. He’s in love with that Wilde too, along with all the bloody rest.</p><p>Whatever these newfound feelings are for Wilde, they’re inconvenient as hell is what they are. Zolf and Wilde have a fine professional relationship. In their line of work, having that means the difference between life or death. Zolf would be a bloody fool to try to mess that up.</p><p>It’s still a risk Zolf wants to take.</p><p>Zolf is used to loss by now. He knows himself better because of it. And he knows that he’s tired of feeling <em> pointless </em> all the time, like he’s got so much of himself to devote and no one who’s stuck around long enough to devote himself <em> to</em>. </p><p>And the problem is, Zolf wants that. He may be grief-stricken and roughspun and carrying enough scars to scare anyone off, but he still <em>wants</em> to devote himself to someone, to Wilde. If Wilde will have him. If he’ll even let Zolf in. </p><p>Zolf finishes his drink and trudges to bed, feeling too tired and too old. The inn is quiet except for the sound of rain and wind outside. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know how long he’s been asleep when Wilde slides in next to him. Zolf has since slept off the fury and the whiskey, and the only thing left is a deep familiar exhaustion, a lingering regret that he’s felt ever since he found out that Sasha and Hamid disappeared. He opens his eyes and looks at Wilde in the dark.</p><p>“Sorry,” Zolf mumbles. “For saying that you don’t care. I know you do.”</p><p>“I think if anyone should apologize,” Wilde says quietly, “it should be me.”</p><p>They lay there in silence for a while, listening to the sound of rain outside.</p><p>Zolf says, “I’m still not ready to accept that this is the way the world is. I don’t think I can ever just accept it.”</p><p>“I know,” Wilde says. “I hate asking that of you.”</p><p>“I do trust you, you know. You don’t make it easy, or anything. But I do.”</p><p>In the dark, Wilde’s expressions are honest and unschooled as they never are in the light, and so Zolf sees it when his eyes widen with surprise. Zolf wonders if he is the first person to tell Oscar Wilde that he trusts him.</p><p>“Thank you, Zolf,” Wilde says.</p><p>And then because he has to know, Zolf asks, “Do you believe the world will get better? Like, truly? No lies here, Wilde.”</p><p>Wilde takes a long time to answer, until Zolf thinks that he may just avoid the question. “I do. I do believe it. I have to. No choice in that.”</p><p>“There <em> is </em> a choice in that,” Zolf says, fiercely. “Of course there’s a fucking choice. Don’t do yourself the disservice.”</p><p>“And you?” Wilde asks.</p><p>Zolf thinks about this carefully before answering. “I didn’t always believe it,” he says, because he keenly remembers the crushing weight of his past mistakes. “But I do now. There’s good that’s worth fighting for. It’s as simple as that.”</p><p>Wilde smiles, a small hidden smile that only Zolf gets to see. Wilde’s eyes are beginning to droop, exhaustion taking him. “So we’re both disillusioned of the world, and both carrying a faith in a better one. We’re two of a kind. Peas in a pod. Balls in a sack. Fish in a… in a barrel...”</p><p>“Go to sleep, Wilde, you’re getting loopy,” Zolf says, powerfully fond, and hating it. Being in love is the worst, it turns out.</p><p>Wilde just hums. His eyes have closed, and there’s a peaceful expression on his face that Zolf doesn’t think he’s seen there before.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Zolf spends the next day in a bright mood. He cooks an elaborate breakfast. He does the laundry, since most of his clothes are covered in mud. He takes apart his prosthetics, which badly need their usual tune-up after his latest stint in the anti-magic field.</p><p>Wilde seems happy too. Zolf clears away the dishes from dinner and he comes back to find that Wilde is staring out the window with his chin propped up in his hand, humming quietly to himself. It’s been a long time since Zolf has heard Wilde sing — not since the last time he saw him cast magic, probably. And he’s never heard Wilde just hum to himself like this, something so sweet about it after all the unending dread. Zolf feels something come loose in him. </p><p>Wilde stops humming when he sees Zolf standing there, that faraway look disappearing. </p><p>“What?” Wilde says, sounding embarrassed.</p><p>“You don’t have to stop,” Zolf says. “You hummin’. It’s nice to listen to. Better than listening to the rain.”</p><p>“If you would like an encore performance, you’ll have to be a bit more persuasive than that,” Wilde says with a crooked smirk. </p><p>Zolf snorts. “All right, be like that.” He goes over to the low table and sits on the floor next to Wilde. He’s gotten much better at sitting on the floor, but it still takes his prosthetics a few clicks and whirs to get there. He sees Wilde’s expression go carefully blank.</p><p>“Pretty please will you start humming again?” Zolf says, laying it on real thick. </p><p>Wilde opens his mouth to say something, and Zolf leans forward and kisses him.</p><p>Wilde makes a muffled noise of surprise, and then his lips open against Zolf’s, kissing him back. And then Wilde pulls away, inhaling sharply.</p><p>“Zolf,” Wilde says, unhappily. “This isn’t… this can’t…” He seems to be struggling with something. Zolf tilts his head forward so that their foreheads press together. Wilde leans his weight into this, taking another sharp breath.</p><p>“If we do this, then I am compromised,” Wilde says. “I will no longer be able to make any sound judgment when it comes to you. If you’re infected, I don't trust myself to be able to — to —”</p><p>To kill Zolf.</p><p>“Oscar,” Zolf says. He cups the side of Wilde’s face, and Wilde makes a small, tight noise. “We’ve already been compromised. If one of us got infected, then…” He can’t say it out loud either. </p><p>Zolf draws a breath. “But we can’t keep livin’ scared. We have to… to hope that the world will be better. You said it yourself, remember?”</p><p>Wilde’s lips twist in a wry smile. “It sounds foolish.”</p><p>“Then I’m a fool,” Zolf says, quietly. “Then we’re both fools.”</p><p>Wilde surges forward and kisses Zolf again, pressing up closer until Zolf can feel his warm, heavy weight leaning against his chest. There’s something desperate about it, something so totally uninhibited, like in this moment, Wilde isn’t holding anything back. His fingers are clutching at Zolf’s shirt, his lips are hot and urgent against Zolf’s. Zolf feels warmth rising in him in a slow-building wave.</p><p>When they pull away, Wilde’s eyes remain closed, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Zolf traces his fingers along Wilde’s jaw. “So, what about that encore performance?” he asks.</p><p>“Mmm, perhaps later,” Wilde says, and then tugs Zolf by his beard, back in for a slow, lingering kiss. “I’ll give you a performance you can really remember.”</p><p>“That was awful,” Zolf says. “Did those sort of lines really work on all your hordes of lovers?”</p><p>“Yes,” Wilde says. “It worked on you too, didn’t it?” He leans forward further, so that he’s practically in Zolf’s lap.</p><p>“Shut up,” Zolf says, and kisses Wilde’s neck, just below his jaw. Wilde shivers deliciously in his arms, and Zolf decides that he very much likes having a lapful of Oscar Wilde.</p><p>“This isn’t at all how I thought this would go,” Wilde says, softly. “When I let myself think about it.”</p><p>“How did you think it would go?” Zolf says, still kissing Wilde’s throat.</p><p>“I thought I’d have to ply you with gifts. I imagined a slow seduction. I would orchestrate getting kidnapped by brigands so you would have to come to my rescue.” </p><p>“That sounds like a lot of work.”</p><p>Wilde tilts his head to the side so that Zolf has better access. “You have no idea. It is so hard to acquire brigands this time of year.”</p><p>“And everyone accuses <em> me </em> of reading too many Harrison Campbell novels.”</p><p>“They’ve rubbed off on me, I’m afraid. Ha. Rubbed off on me.”</p><p>Zolf turns his head into Wilde’s shoulder and laughs. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”</p><p>They continue trading kisses that seem to be building in a crescendo at a lazy, unhurried pace. Zolf feels drunk. He’s addicted to the feeling of Wilde’s hair laced around his fingers, can’t stop running his hand through it.</p><p>“I take it all back. This was a good idea. This was the best idea I’ve ever had,” Wilde says, mindlessly, after Zolf has figured out that he can make him go completely boneless with just a hand stroking the back of his neck.</p><p>“Don’t take all the credit,” Zolf says. “I kissed you first, remember?”</p><p>“So you did,” Wilde says. “My very own handsome sailor for me to swoon into.”</p><p>Zolf turns red. “There you go speaking nonsense again,” he mutters. Wilde’s smile just widens.</p><p>“Zolf, you do know you’re exceptionally attractive, right?”</p><p>“Stop,” Zolf says, groaning.</p><p>“It’s been very difficult for me,” Wilde says, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “Here you were, all unattainable and distressingly dreamy. Do you remember that one time I caught you training with your glaive?”</p><p>Zolf does remember. He’d been sparring with Carter and Barnes. It had been a relatively mild day, with the rain easing up to a light drizzle, and they’d taken advantage of it by training outside. Wilde had come outside, as if to say something, and then had immediately gone back inside. Zolf had always wondered why Wilde had acted so strangely that day.</p><p>“Oh no,” Zolf says, with dawning horror. “Don’t tell me.” He almost claps a hand over Wilde’s mouth so that he can’t continue, but it’s so good to see him like this for once that he resigns himself to it.</p><p>“It was <em> awful</em>,” Wilde says, with delight. “Consider the scene. There I was, unsuspecting, going about my day, an innocent wildflower.”</p><p>Zolf snorts at the idea of Wilde being anything close to innocent, but Wilde ignores him and continues blithely on.</p><p>“And there you were, sweaty, covered in mud, a bit. Glistening in the sun.”</p><p>“There was no sun,” Zolf interjects. “It’s been raining nonstop for months.”</p><p>“All right, not glistening,” Wilde amends. “But certainly <em> glowing</em>. I mean, crucially, you didn’t have a <em> shirt on</em>. And, did I mention, you looked exceptionally handsome.” He turns towards Zolf, and his smile turns warm, enough affection in it that Zolf feels briefly stunned. “I didn’t think I could have this.”</p><p>Zolf has nothing to say to that. Wilde’s already gone and said it all. He’s good with words, and Zolf’s happy to listen to them. Instead, he leans in to kiss Wilde again, and that seems to be all right.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Wilde doesn’t seem to want to stop <em> touching </em>him, but Zolf doesn’t want Barnes and Carter to walk in on them, so they move to Zolf’s room where Wilde immediately gets onto the bed, pulling Zolf with him.</p><p>“Do you know,” Wilde says, between kisses, “how many times I saw you wearing your apron cooking another beast of a ten-course meal, and I wanted to kiss you? Too many times.”</p><p>“That explains all the times you hung around the kitchen, being a nuisance,” Zolf says. He licks into Wilde’s mouth, and beneath him, Wilde moans deliriously. His hands immediately begin working on undoing his trousers, the fastenings of his shirt. Zolf sits back on his heels and takes in the slowly unfolding picture that Wilde makes. </p><p>Humans are so oddly delicate, and Wilde is no exception. His ribs make shapes beneath his skin every time he arches his back, and the long column of his neck is flushed red. Zolf wants to press kisses over the delicate skin of his pulse points, so he does, starting with the inside of Wilde’s wrists. He may be a godless cleric and heretic to boot, but in this moment, Zolf remembers what it is to worship.</p><p>When Zolf gets a hand around Wilde’s cock, Wilde breaks out into breathless laughter. </p><p>“Should’ve known you’d be loud in bed,” Zolf says, in wonderment.</p><p>“I’m not loud, I’m <em> vocal</em>. There’s a difference,” Wilde says, and as if to prove his point, he lets out another extravagant moan. His cock is leaking into Zolf’s hand, and Zolf uses this to slick the way, which rewards him with another loud moan.</p><p>“I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me,” Wilde says, with a gasp, “for <em> ages.</em> I thought I’d <em> lost my touch</em>.”</p><p>“You haven’t lost anything, it just doesn’t work on me like that. Don’t take it personally,” Zolf says. “Things like that don’t really work on me anyway.”</p><p>“But this is fine?” Wilde says. He means the hand that Zolf has around his cock. Zolf gives it another long stroke, and Wilde falls back on the mattress and moans.</p><p>“Yes, this is fine,” Zolf says, smiling. “I can’t give you everything, but I’ll gladly give you this.”</p><p>“Anything you have to give me, my dear Zolf, I will gladly take,” Wilde says, fiercely. </p><p>Huh. Zolf tilts his head and considers this. Wilde writhes impatiently beneath him, tilting his hips up to get some friction from Zolf’s loose grip.</p><p>“What are you <em> thinking </em>about? Stop thinking and—”</p><p>“Hush, I’m thinking,” Zolf says.</p><p>“Oh, very funny,” Wilde says. “Of course you’d develop a sense of humor now, of all times. I’m going to tell Curie that we can’t work together after all. <em> I’m </em> meant to be the funny one in this professional relationship, you see. There can’t be—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Zolf says. Wilde stops babbling and gives Zolf an affronted look. And before Wilde can start up again, Zolf asks, “Want me to eat you out?”</p><p>Wilde is temporarily knocked speechless. Then, he says, enthusiastically, “<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p>“Good,” Zolf says. He turns Wilde over onto his belly and then pulls Wilde towards him by his hips so that his ass is tilted up in front of his face. Wilde lets out a surprised moan.</p><p>“And you like being manhandled in bed. I should have guessed that too,” Zolf says. He presses his thumb against the rim of Wilde’s hole.</p><p>“I — <em> nngh </em> — I do, yes. Among other things, of course.”</p><p>“Was that a hint?” Zolf says. He leans forward and licks Wilde’s entrance, his tongue barely slipping in, and <em> feels </em> the shudder that goes through Wilde’s body.</p><p>“No? Yes? No??” Wilde says, panting into the mattress.</p><p>Zolf smirks. He’s kind of enjoying how out of sorts Wilde is getting. “Well? Which answer is it? Yes or no?”</p><p>“Whatever answer will get you to put your mouth back on me, Zolf, <em> please</em>,” Wilde says, clearly gone desperate. So Zolf bends his head and gives Wilde what he wants. </p><p>Zolf is badly out of practice, but Wilde doesn’t seem to mind. Every new push of Zolf’s tongue has Wilde making another obscene noise, his spine contorting into interesting configurations so that he can push Zolf’s tongue even deeper. It’s when Wilde goes quiet that Zolf figures he’d better draw back.</p><p>“You close?” Zolf says. </p><p>Wilde nods silently, his face hidden in his arms. Can’t have that. Zolf flips him over. Wilde’s cock is a leaking mess now, has left smears across his belly from where it’s been dripping onto the sheets. Zolf loves to see Wilde so thoroughly undone, so driven to pleasure that his eyes look bright with tears when he glares up at Zolf.</p><p>“Why did you stop?” Wilde says.</p><p>“I wanted to see you,” Zolf says. He strokes his hand up Wilde’s cock, and Wilde whines, his hips lifting off the bed as he starts to fuck into Zolf’s grip.</p><p>“Where did you learn to do that? Where did you come from? You always <em> surprise </em> me, do you know how absolutely <em> maddening </em> that is,” Wilde says, all in one breath. Zolf wonders if he even knows he’s saying it out loud. He leans forward and kisses Wilde’s belly.</p><p>“Go on, Oscar. I’ve got you,” Zolf says, finding that he’s gone slightly hoarse. Wilde comes with a low groan, spilling into Zolf’s hand. Zolf pumps him through it, his eyes on Wilde’s face the entire time. </p><p>Zolf gets a damp washcloth and cleans off his hand, and cleans off Wilde’s belly as gently as he can. Eventually, Wilde settles down. He covers his face with his hands like he’s drawing himself back together, closing the doors on himself again. Zolf can’t bear it — he removes one of Wilde’s hands and kisses the back of it. </p><p>Wilde smiles crookedly. “I think you’ve broken me.”</p><p>Zolf looks him over. “You’ll be fine.”</p><p>Wilde tilts his head. “And you? I can return the favor. Just give me a moment to catch my breath.”</p><p>“I’m all right,” Zolf says, easily. He runs his hand through Wilde’s hair. After so long of thinking of touching it, he finally gets to. He's missed touching. He's missed being touched.</p><p>“I suppose I just feel a little selfish,” Wilde says, leaning shamelessly into Zolf’s hand.</p><p>“It’s good for you to be selfish,” Zolf says. “You’re doing enough fucking work keeping the world in one piece.”</p><p>Wilde makes a face, like he’s uncomfortable with the praise. He doesn’t say anything.</p><p>“Hey, Oscar,” Zolf says.</p><p>“What?” Wilde says, suspicious.</p><p>“You’re a good person,” Zolf says.</p><p>“Stop,” Wilde says, with a tired laugh. “What am I even supposed to say to that?”</p><p>“You don’t have to say anything, you just have to know I’m right,” Zolf says. He leans in and nuzzles into Wilde’s neck, kissing him there. Wilde gives another long shiver.</p><p>“Gods, Zolf. If I could go another round, I absolutely would. That was… that was…” It’s not every day Zolf gets to see Wilde at a loss for words. It’s pretty great.</p><p>“I mean, you could go another round. D’you want to?” Zolf says. “Because I’ve got this fun thing called healing. If you really wanted to come again, I think between the two of us we could manage that.”</p><p>Wilde’s eyes snap open. “You’re having me on.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Zolf says. He wiggles his fingers. “Wanna?”</p><p>“Yes. Absolutely,” Wilde says. “How did I not know about this? What other hidden skills of the erotic arts have you been hiding from me?”</p><p>“First of all, never say ‘erotic arts’ to me ever again. And second, well, I can’t give away all my secrets all at once, can I?” Zolf says. He whispers a prayer into Wilde’s skin, sending healing energy through it. </p><p>Wilde’s mouth falls open, and his eyes glaze over as Zolf’s magic washes through him. “Fuck. That feels… <em> Fuck</em>.” They both watch as Wilde’s cock begins to fill again against his thigh. </p><p>“Wow, that really worked,” Zolf says, surprised despite himself. “I thought it would take a bit longer.”</p><p>“Gods, I missed magic,” Wilde says, with another appreciative groan.</p><p>This time, in no rush, Zolf keeps Wilde on the edge for a long time. He takes Wilde’s cock into his mouth, learning all over again what it feels like to do this for someone. Wilde is especially expressive in bed, mouthy as hell, which Zolf kind of expected, and he seems to want to touch Zolf at all times. He keeps tugging Zolf by his beard when he wants to be kissed, keeps stroking Zolf’s chest, or running his hands across Zolf’s back. It’s been a long time since Zolf has felt <em> wanted </em>like this.</p><p>When at last Zolf lets Wilde come, it is with Zolf’s name on his lips. Zolf doesn’t think he’d have it any other way.</p><p>Afterwards, they lay together on the bed. They shouldn’t fit together so well, a dwarf and a human with too-long limbs. But somehow, Wilde folds up perfectly into Zolf’s arms, his knees drawn up, his feet tucked beneath him. Wilde seems fascinated with Zolf’s tattoos, keeps tracing them idly with his fingers.</p><p>“You look like you could sing,” Zolf says. It is gratifying to know that even though Zolf is badly out of practice, he can still get Wilde to look <em> this </em>blissed out.</p><p>“I could,” Wilde says. “I might, if you’re not careful.”</p><p>“Well, go on then,” Zolf says, feeling indulgent.</p><p>Wilde looks at him uncertainly, as if making sure he’s not being made fun of. And then he opens his mouth to sing.</p><p>The song is unfamiliar — Zolf thinks it might be in German. Wilde’s voice is melodic and clear, and even without magic being cast through it, it feels like an enchantment. Zolf finds himself smiling as he listens, lets his eyes close so that he can focus on it fully. Outside, the rain is relentless, the world slipping inexorably further into ruin, but here in this room there’s some measure of peace, as precious as it is hard-won. </p><p>“That was beautiful,” Zolf says, after Wilde finishes.</p><p>Wilde smiles a little sadly and says, “I sang that for a countess and her coterie once. I wonder how she’s doing in all this.”</p><p>“You used to sing for people?” Zolf says, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Wilde says. “I was in high demand for a while then. I sang for almost three hundred people once. It was a gala. For charity, actually. Although I can’t remember which one, now that I think about it. </p><p>Wilde’s voice goes wistful, dreamy. “For the finishing touches on the song, I wove in an illusion of the room melting away into a beautiful garden. It was a rather taxing illusion to cast — I wanted the butterflies to be perfect, you see. I had to leave the gala early because I could barely keep down my dinner. Was in bed for three days after that. It was worth it though, for the looks on their faces. They hadn’t thought I could do it.” </p><p>Zolf frowns.</p><p>There is amusement in Wilde’s voice. “You disapprove.”</p><p>“Don’t see why you had to put yourself through so much trouble for something so frivolous,” Zolf grumbles.</p><p>“I had something to prove, those days,” Wilde says. His fingers play distractingly with Zolf’s chest hair. “And I didn’t have you to look after me. You’ve kept me sane, you know.”</p><p>Zolf grunts, secretly pleased. “Can’t help it if you need a minder. Keep you from settin’ yourself on fire.”</p><p>“But the truth is, I do miss casting magic like that,” Wilde says, quietly. “Magic just for magic’s sake. Just to make something beautiful appear for a while.”</p><p>“Bet you miss having the audience too,” Zolf says. “There’s only me to listen to you sing here.”</p><p>“Don’t say that,” Wilde says, propping himself up on his elbows to look at Zolf. His hair flops into his eyes, making him seem younger. “I enjoy having private audiences also.”</p><p>Zolf narrows his eyes. “Was that a euphemism?”</p><p>Wilde looks delighted. “No, but it is now.”</p><p>Zolf rolls his eyes. “I just meant I don’t have much of an ear for music to really appreciate it. All I know are sea shanties.”</p><p>Wilde’s eyes light up in a way that makes Zolf instantly nervous. “I love sea shanties. I’ve always loved sea shanties.”</p><p>Zolf snorts. “Sure you do.”</p><p>“I’d <em> love </em> to hear you sing one.”</p><p>“No, you would not. You want to laugh at me. I know that look.”</p><p>“What look?” Wilde says, innocently. Zolf throws a pillow at his face, and Wilde laughs. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Zolf wakes up, it’s still dark, and Wilde’s head is pillowed on his shoulder. He doesn’t know whether it’s morning yet — with the unceasing rain and gloom, time never seems to pass the same way. Zolf doesn’t really mind it so much now. He presses a kiss to Wilde’s hairline, and Wilde wakes up with a snuffle.</p><p>“Sorry,” Zolf says, not really sorry at all. He kisses the upturn of Wilde’s cheekbone and Wilde sighs, sounding content.</p><p>Zolf’s lips slide to the scar on Wilde’s face. Wilde inhales sharply and turns his head away.</p><p>“Don’t,” Wilde says, his eyes opening. “Not there, please.”</p><p>“Oh. Sorry,” Zolf says, and kisses Wilde’s ear in apology.</p><p>“It’s fine. It just — doesn’t feel like a part of me. I keep expecting I can dispel it. Like it’s just another glamor. But I can’t, of course.”</p><p>Zolf has never heard Wilde remark on his scar. He’s gotten so used to it just being a part of Wilde’s face. He’d forgotten that this might not be the case for Wilde.</p><p>“You know you’re still pretty, right?” Zolf says, trying for a light tone.</p><p>Wilde smiles, pleased. “No, I don’t. Tell me more.”</p><p>Zolf hums. “Maybe later.”</p><p>“You’re no help. Sometimes a man just wants to be complimented, you know,” Wilde says.</p><p>Zolf props himself up and makes a show of looking Wilde up and down, letting his gaze linger where he wants it to linger, until he sees a warm flush begin to rise in Wilde’s cheeks, and Wilde begins to squirm in anticipation.</p><p>“Well, you’ve got good teeth,” Zolf says, and pats Wilde companionably on the chest.</p><p>Wilde splutters in unconcealed rage. “Good<em> teeth</em>?!”</p><p>“You’ve got all of them, for a start. They’re all in the right place. And they’re strong. Straight,” Zolf says, enjoying himself.</p><p>Wilde looks even more insulted. “Please, Zolf, as if anything about me is <em> straight</em>.”</p><p>Zolf snorts. “You’ve always got to have the last word, haven’t you?” </p><p>Wilde tuts. “The last word’s the only one worth having, my dear Zolf. Now tell me I’m beautiful.”</p><p>Zolf leans in and puts his lips almost to Wilde’s ear, and he does exactly that. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/star_strung">Twitter</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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